Remember: smiles over scowls, please
by Aaarrrggghhh
Summary: Regulus doesn't seem to smile very much, and Izzy doesn't particularly like being frowned at.
1. Chapter One

**Remember: smiles over scowls, please.**

Disclaimer: Psh. I only wish I was cool enough to own Harry Potter.

**Chapter One.**

I hated that stupid train. Really, I did. Do you know what kind of _pain_ that thing was for me? All noisy and crowded and probably full of disgusting germs as well. Oh, Merlin, I hated those germs. In first year, after I discovered how awful it was, I proclaimed that I would never go to Hogwarts again. Of course, I always ended up repeating that mantra year after year, summer after endless summer, and then when September 1st came I would get on the godforsaken train without a single word.

I scowled up at it, red and sleek and almost beautiful. My bags were making my arms ache and I felt rather like sleeping.

"Are you alright?" Joan prodded my shoulder, both obnoxious and concerned.

"I'm perfectly alright!"

No, no I was not.

But Joan was pretty and not very perceptive, so though I clearly was _not_ alright, the best she could do was squint at my face and speculate that maybe I was lying, but not pry into it too deeply.

Besides, it was my next-to-last year. I set my shoulders and tried to feel brave. I could endure two more years of Hogwarts, then I could go do something silly with my life that most likely would not involve wizards or witches or magic of any sort—like being a book keeper. That would be nice and safe.

I boarded the train, feeling just a little bit queasy.

My head swiveled around and around, looking for familiar—preferable friendly as well—faces so that I could sit and maybe sleep on the far-too-long train ride. Before too long I began to feel like an owl.

I only had Gryffindor friends because of Marlene. _Really_. I had more Gryffindor than Hufflepuff friends because of her; which was probably a good thing because I didn't think that I would able to tolerate very many people like myself, no matter how nice they seemed.

My father was the one with magic in my family, a pureblood in fact, while my mother was a muggle and I liked her all the better for it. In any case, my father was always going to all of these little wizard-ly things with other wizards, and sometimes I would tag along and that's how I met Marlene. We were both quite young, and we managed to stay good friends up until Hogwarts. When she got sorted into Gryffindor and I was put into Hufflepuff, I really thought that was the end of it.

Then, being Marlene and having Marlene's various oddities, she surprised me. She insisted that I make friends with her group so I got to hanging out with them more than my own sort. Lily, Daisy, Mary, and of course, Lily's so-called dashing admirer and his lot. I could see why Lily didn't particularly fancy James—he wasn't very nice. He was rather rude, and he seemed to be unfamiliar with the term 'brushing one's hair'. Not appealing, but at least she had someone vying for her attentions.

Sirius was fairly attractive, though I preferred boys who were a might more attainable, as in, they _didn't_ have millions of girls lining up at their door for said boy to do with them what they would. Remus was fun to talk to and a tad cute; Peter was adorable, but in a way that only made me think of bunnies, rainbows, and butterflies.

Also, having Marlene as a friend didn't really do well for my love life.

"Hey! Over here!" I instantly spun around, knocking into someone who glared at me nastily. Most likely a Slytherin, what with their foul demeanors and what not.

"Izzy!"

"Izzy, over _here_!

I nearly avoided running into someone else, who also glared at me, and managed to catch a glance at where my friends' heads were poking out and their arms waving at me wildly.

I hurriedly scrambled over, but my feet didn't much like to listen to me, so they twisted in on themselves and I almost fell, bumping into yet a third person, which, funnily enough, is the only thing that kept me from falling, so I straightened myself up.

"Why don't you watch where you're going, Milne?" The person barked, shoving me to the side so they could stalk past me.

By nature, I wasn't feisty, so I kept on my ever-so-merry way without so much as mumbling an insult in return, though I did make a mental note of what they looked like to avoid them in the future as they had a _particularly_ horrid temperament.

Black hair, gray eyes, dignified posture, admirable facial features: a Black to be sure. I'd have to mention to Sirius sometime that his family really needed to see a counselor about their personality disorders. Sirius included—I think his would _narcissistic_, or perhaps anti-social, what with all his pranking behavior. Then again, that would also have to be James. James and Sirius suffered from the same personality disorders, how interesting.

In my mind, Slytherins were like rabbits. You couldn't leave them alone, for Merlin's sake. One minute there's only two, acting all innocent, the next minute there's about fifty and you don't know which way to turn without getting into a tangle with one. No, I was not feisty at all.

The minute I arrived at my friends' chosen area, I was bombarded by hugs and various squeals of delight, the latter of which hurt my ears and made me wish I had different friends.

"You really need to work on your letter-writing skills, Izzy," Lily said, "I only just heard from you while we were away."

I smiled sheepishly. Lily looked practically the same as I had seen her last—waist-length, sultry red curls, and bottle-glass green eyes. She was a bit more curvy, and her skin a tad paler, but other than that there wasn't anything different about her. "Sorry. I was visiting my mum's part of the family for most of the summer." I said. "If they'd seen me sending off an owl, they'd have thought I was mad." I rolled my eyes. "And you know my mum, always way too paranoid to let me try it."

Marlene smirked. "That's a shame; you would've gotten to hear _all_ about Lily's fling with—"

Lily's cheeks flared the same color as her hair. "Marlene!" She fumed. "Not. _Now_." Her eyes darted right behind her and it was at that moment that I noticed the compartment was little . . . shall we say fuller than usual?

"It's great, I'm telling you. Delicious stuff. I—"

"Lily's fling with _who_?"

Lily ground her teeth and hissed, low and angry.

Squished rather tightly into the other side of the compartment were none other than the 'Great Marauders'. Though I was more inclined to call them the great idiots than anything else.

James was alternating his stare between Lily and Marlene. Daisy and Mary were chattering amongst themselves, completely oblivious. Remus looked uncomfortable, sandwiched between Sirius and Peter, but he was flipping absentmindedly through a book as Peter watched over his shoulder.

"Ah . . ." I swallowed nervously. "Hello James and co. Nice to be seeing you, but maybe you guys should leave? Lily here looks as though she's about to have an aneurism if you know what I mean."

Blank stares. From all of them—well, except Lily, but I didn't count her because she was busy trying to bore holes into Marlene's skull with her eyes. Being that my mother was muggle, I consistently slipped in bits of muggle-related things that my peers knew absolutely nothing about. It didn't help that I had an unabashed preference for muggle culture; I practically spoke a different language half of the time.

"It's an—"

"Was it Peasegood?" James demanded. "One of the Prewetts?"

Lily squirmed, her blush beginning to die down. "Izzy's right. Go find someone else to be a bother with, will you?"

James rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Evans, just tell me! I promise I won't hex them too badly."

"James'll find the poor bloke one way or another, so you may as well tell him now and maybe he'll show a bit of mercy." Sirius observed, grinning like a feral cat.

"Don't be such a prat, Black." Marlene said before turning on James, eyes gleaming. "It wasn't either of them; don't you think your precious Lily could do a little better than _them_?"

"Marlene, please!" Lily cried in embarrassment.

I sighed stared across the room. So much for my nap.


	2. Chapter Two

**Remember: smiles over scowls, please.**

Disclaimer: Yah. I don't own anything. Except for Izzy and Joan.

**Chapter Two.**

Hestia Jones and Alice Wilkes were trying to get me to tell them who I fancied while we sat and I sipped pumpkin juice pretending not to hear them. I wasn't particularly close to them, but they were nice enough, and while I had to sit with the Hufflepuff table, they didn't make for poor company other than their obsession with the opposite gender.

"You must fancy _someone_ Izzy!" Alice declared loudly. Her dark brown hair was pulled up, revealing her heart-shaped face and wide eyes.

"Nope, not a one." I hadn't had a serious boyfriend since Davy Gudgeon in fourth year, and when he left Hogwarts at the end of that year, he decided that I wasn't really good enough for 'long term'. Shame; Davy was brilliant for the eyes, beautiful for a guy. The past two years after him had been first-dates and snogging sessions but nothing more interesting than that, and certainly no 'love'.

"You're so boring." Hestia teased, poking my ribs.

"I have to agree with Hestia on this one, even _I_ fancy someone, and I haven't dated since . . . was it third year?" Alice grinned.

Hestia nodded eagerly. "He was so handsome though. A real catch. Why'd you break up with him anyway?"

"He was such a bore!" She mocked a pretentious yawn.

"Mm, yes, and who would it be that you fancy ever-so-much, Alice?"

She crossed her arms. "Like I'm going to tell you that! You won't even admit that you fancy someone to begin with."

I thought that it could've been Sirius Black, because all the girls loved Sirius Black, but I hadn't seen her stare at him with moon eyes and flushed cheeks. I hoped it was someone decent; Alice seemed like the type who could catch a broken heart like anyone else could get a bit of a cough.

I was going to respond, maybe even with something witty if I felt up to it, but the sorting ceremony began and I felt inclined to pay close attention. After all, my little sister was going to be finding out her house and I was quite excited. She would probably be a Hufflepuff like myself—oh, or better yet, a Gryffindor! How cute!

The first years walked up to the hat as they were called, each one nervous or grinning or skipping, all wild with joy. When I was a first year, I had walked so slowly. My shoes had padded on the veined marble, the floating candles bathed everything in gold and tawny. When I finally made it up to the hat, I had nearly shrieked when it spoke in my head, little whispers that made me shiver. It prodded around in my head a bit before proclaiming my house—it never doubted, or if it did, it never said anything to me. I felt sure that it would be the same way for Joan.

"Joan Milne!"

I clapped my hands together and giggled, whirling around to get a better look at her.

She held her head high and walked proudly. Her hair crossed the border into blonde, where my own stayed very light brown. She had a small smile on her face, a bit of a frenzied blush, but she was calmer than I could ever be, even as a sixth year to her first. She was so small, still a child to me.

Joan sat down on the bench, her feet stamped firmly onto one of the bottom rungs. She placed the sorting hat onto her head, and it drooped over her ears, looking as if at any moment it would slip down and hide her whole face. I tried to read her lips, her eyes, but I couldn't get to her thoughts like I wanted to. I leaned, desperate to know what she would become.

She looked so happy. I was relieved that she wasn't nervous as I had been when I was discovering my house.

Gryffindor, of course, that's what she would be. She was much more brilliant that I was, more playful, peskier, brave, fiery. She would certainly be—"Slytherin!"

Oh. Wait. _Really_?

My jaw dropped. I fought very hard not stand up and shout, 'What? What do you mean Slytherin? This girl's an angel, a prodigy. She's no Slytherin!'

There must've been a mix-up. Slytherin was for bullies, conmen, and people who only cared about themselves. Joan was . . . well, she wasn't that at all. There must've been a mix-up. Joan cared about everyone, and she was a darling. Everyone loved her.

Joan was grinning and she leapt off of the bench, delicately placing the hat where she had been sitting. She practically _skipped_ to the Slytherin table. Had I missed something there? Had she ever told me about her enduring love for all that was evil?

Alice was staring at me in apprehension. "Erm, Izzy. You've gone quite pale, is there a problem?"

I wanted to shake her by the shoulders—of course there was a problem! She had seen firsthand what Slytherin did to people; Lily and Severus, even. He had been so close to her, and now they no longer looked at one another, let alone _spoke_. Everyone knew about them! One day I woke up and there it was, right in my face, no more Severus and Lily. Because he was a Slytherin and obviously very despicable in nature.

I gulped down nearly half my glass of pumpkin juice. It hurt my throat, pressing up against the walls of my esophagus, but I ignored it. "No problem at all, Alice." I coughed.

I tried to find Joan after the ceremony—and I did. I wanted to ask her, demand why she had been put into that house because it certainly wasn't because she was evil.

She was laughing and running in front of me, arm in arm with some other little girl who was also drifting with the Slytherin crowd.

I reached out my arm and then yanked it back. I slowed my pace, letting myself be taken up by the crowd. I felt guilty, all of a sudden, for wanting her to do something she hadn't wanted to do. Or wanting her to be something she wasn't. I was certain, so certain she would be in a decent house. But she hadn't been. And . . . and then I felt certain that she would come to regret being in Slytherin, because she wasn't like them, and they didn't like outsiders.

"Isla! Izzy!"

Instead of waiting to find out who it was who wanted to bother me, I scurried away to the Hufflepuff dormitories, suddenly very tired and very not-friendly.


	3. Chapter Three

**Remember: smiles over scowls, please.**

Disclaimer: Blah, blah, blah.

Note: I know I went a bit odd with the classes in this one,  
but it's for the sake of a greater cause.

**Chapter Three.**

Defense Against the Dark Arts was the bane of my existence. Literally. No other class gave me so much trouble, or went through so much work to make me look like an idiot.

When I got my O.W.L.s results, both my mum and my dad had nearly suffered heart failure when they saw the verdict for DADA: the dreaded, the disdained "_Troll_". I didn't have very much of a problem with it, considering I got "Outstandings" and "Exceeds Expectations" in nearly everything else.

But there I was, sitting across my Head-of-House, and she was clucking her tongue like I was a misbehaved owl and I was trying my hardest not to giggle at the absurdity of it all.

"Wonderful O.W.L.s, wonderful," she folded her hands on her lap, "Ms. Milne . . ." she looked at me expectantly, as my eyes had glazed over from the beginnings of a daydream. "Right, then. I do think you went a bit awry with Defense Against the Dark Arts, dear."

"Did I now?"

Her eyebrows scrunched together. "Yes. Yes, you did." She said stoically. "I find this very troubling—you know, only a handful of students in each of the houses make 'Trolls', and usually they also make more than one."

I shrugged. "DADA and I aren't on the best of terms."

"I see that." She said. "Well, are you going to be continuing with the rest of your classes? No changes in electives?"

"Oh, yes. I mean no. I mean . . ." I smiled nervously and bit my bottom lip. "I'll keep Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies, thanks."

"Perfect." She said. "Now, about Defense Against the Dark Arts," she paused and reached into her desk, producing a large, dusty tome. It looked moldy and dirty and horrid. I scooted my chair back a few centimeters, creating a loud groan that burst from the sleek, wooden floor, and slapped against the brick walls.

She didn't seem to notice and flipped the book open halfway. She pushed a pair of reading glasses up her nose and turned a few pages before muttering to herself in approval. I scooted back again when I was sure dust was floating towards me.

"Here we _are_," she chimed, "the Professor has two classes open for students who did poorly on their O.W.L.s, though you may simply wish to opt out of the class altogether, dear."

I didn't like what she was insinuating. It would've been easier for me to give up the class, sure, and I _may_ have been contemplating skipping out on another year of DADA, but for her to just assume that I didn't want to take just because I made a Troll—well, that was another matter entirely.

"I'm not very sure."

"Pardon me, but you don't seem to enjoy the class very much, and that coupled with your low O.W.L.s score . . ." she shook her head. "Perhaps you should consider another option."

I looked away, suddenly agitated.

"Dear, it really would be in your best interests to—"

"I'll take the class." I muttered.

"What?"

"I said," I proclaimed a bit louder, braver, "I'll take the dumb class."

She puckered her lips and fluffed up like and overgrown chicken, her golden robes flowing over her pudgy body. "Why, Ms. Milne!" She cried. "I _hardly_ think that Defense Against the Dark Arts could be considered 'dumb'."

I grunted, hardly lady-like, "In any case, thanks for helping me get my classes straight." I said. "Have a nice, er, rest of your day." I picked myself up, out of her heavily cushioned chair and eased myself towards the door leading out of her office.

"Ms. Milne—one moment; if you're _certain_ in your decision to take Defense Against the Dark Arts, I need to know if your preference would lie with class A or class B."

"Doesn't matter to me one way or the other, quite frankly."

I heard her 'humph' snootily, as if she wasn't used to dealing with oddball, faintly mean and aggressive teenagers on a daily basis. Then again, perhaps she wasn't, not in Hufflepuff—but I'd gone through enough years being loyal and hardworking, sweet-as-pie and wide-eyed innocent.

Speaking of sweet—I plucked a pastry from my robes pocket, swathed in a napkin and crumbly. My day was getting better already.

* * *

"You actually went through with it? You've got more balls than I've dared to imagine you with, Milne!" Marlene chortled at me through a curtain of chocolate hair

"It's not like I wanted to!" I cried.

"But you did."

"Because she was _provoking_ me. Are they even allowed to do that? Can I get her into some sort of trouble?"

We were prodding along rather slowly, making our way to our respective classes. I'd already gone through one strenuous Potions class in which I was forced to partner up with _Greta Catchlove_ of all people. She was so whiny and, for a Ravenclaw, terrible with keeping ingredients from getting mixed up. By the end, our beautification potion looked as if it'd as soon kill a person as make them pretty.

Lily frowned at me. "Of course she wasn't. You said yourself she was telling you how ill-suited you'd be for taking the class when you don't have to."

"Okay, really?" I said. "Whose side are you _on_?"

"We can't help it that you're a few cards short of a full deck, Iz." Marlene shrugged. " 'Sides, you'll do fine." She said. "So long as it's a class for DADA-morons."

"I'm not a moron!" I snapped. "I just don't see what the point is in learning about—"

"You also see no point in Ancient Runes, but you seem to enjoy that just fine."

Lily looked horrified. "You see no point in Ancient Runes?"

I nearly tripped over my own robes. They were too large for me, and every year I tried to get new ones, but no. "Oh, er, it's . . . see, the thing is, Lily . . ." I stuttered. "Oh, dear. I do believe that's the DADA room!" I scrambled away from my two friends. "I'll catch up with you guys later, hm?"

"Is she all right?" Lily cocked her head, puppy-ish and confused.

Marlene shook her head solemnly. "Got dropped on the head as a baby, I reckon. A lot."

"Ah."


	4. Chapter Four

**Remember: smiles over scowls, please.**

Disclaimer: Blah, blah, blah.

Note: The meeting of Regulus.  
Dun dun dun!

**Chapter Four.**

I walked into that classroom with my head held high, my chin jutting forward, and my back straight as a steel pole. I was confident and feeling unusually strong. Even brave.

My eyes glazed right over it at first, but the second time I looked it was unmistakable.

"What's _she_ doing here?" I heard someone close to the front mutter to their friend.

Bathed in green, faces pinched, mouths foul. Mean, nasty, cruel, unbearable.

My jaw dropped and a dry sound came from my lips that sounded very much like it could have been a squeak of protest against what had already happened, and of course, the problem with things that had already happened was that they were the past, and you can't do anything about the past so you have to do _something_ about the present and the future.

They were all _Slytherin_. Save one or two in the back who both looked to be from Gryffindor. And while the Gryffindor students were my age, perhaps even older, the Slytherin students looked as though they could be no more than 4th years, maybe 5th if I was lucky.

Er. No, wait, I take that back. The older the Slytherin, always the worse in temperament.

The Professor cleared his throat behind me and I almost shrieked. I slapped my hands across my mouth to smother it in case it even gave one thought of attacking the people around me. I turned to face him rather slowly.

His eyebrows were furrowed and his lips set into a thin line. His face was young for a Professor's, but his hair was already dusted with silver. I let my hands drop from my face and smiled at him sheepishly.

"Why don't you take a seat, Ms. Milne?"

"Right, yes. That's what I should do. Seat." I faced the Slytherins. More of them had piled in while I had been momentarily distracted by my horror. "Erm. Seat. Yes." I mumbled.

I lurched forward, scanning the rows for an empty seat. I tried not to look at people too closely; I didn't want to get glared at or insulted. I finally took a seat next to a sickly looking child with limp blonde hair who didn't look as though he'd be too terrible, but then what did I know about reading people? In any case, choosing to sit next to him didn't do any good.

"Lots of empty space I see." The Professor crossed his arms. "We'll be needing to fill that up." He clapped his hands together. "Hurry up now; chop, chop."

I hurriedly got up as everyone shuffled about—or at least those who cared enough to get up. I ended up more in the middle or so of one table near the back, sandwiched between a girl and a boy, neither of whom I could get a very good look at.

The professor scanned the tables from is spot at the front of the classroom. He smiled after a moment and nodded pleasantly. "Good." He stated. "Now, there are ten of you at each table." He said. "Person at the far right of each row, please look to your left. That's your new partner. For the _year_."

There were loud grumbles and mutterings as students shifted in their seats and addressed their new 'partners'. "People, people, please. You'll live if you don't like your partner. It's not the end of the world." He ran his fingers through his short hair. "Alright, as for the rest of the groups, it'll be the person on the right _next_ to first group who'll look to the left and find their partner. Keep that going, and I'm keeping a list of who's with who." He said. "So don't think you can just switch partners willy-nilly."

Willy-nilly?

I looked to my left, but the boy—I was sure that one was a boy—was turned away. I blushed a bit and swung to my right, but the girl was engaged in a rather loud conversation with her newly found partner.

The professor pointed to me. "Milne—with Black!" He bellowed. "_Go_!"

"B—but Professor! I have a partner right . . ." The girl and boy on either side of me ignored me, ". . . here."

"Precisely. With Black you go." He gestured across the room.

How could he do that? Just let them. Just let them. There were probably at least three in the girl's group. He could split them up! But he wouldn't. He just stared at me expectantly, his face frozen in something close to annoyance.

I sighed loudly and struggled to detangle myself from the table. It wouldn't stop wrapping around my ankles. I forced myself to walk, but I was walking through mud and it was unusually hard. I didn't know if the professor knew that I had never met this 'Black' character before, but I suppose that he knew that the Blacks all looked very similar and that I undoubtedly knew another Black with which to base this one off of.

Sirius and I never spoke very much, but there were always dribbles of gossip and tidbits of information that leaked around the school—the fights that Sirius and his family members would get into, that Sirius never went home over break, that he never spoke of his family. It sent the wrong message about a group of people, made others uneasy. A rift in a family like that was . . . well, it was odd. _Unorthodox_. Unacceptable.

There were two tables in the back, and only one person with black hair and grey eyes. I pretended not to notice him, or at least not to know he was a Black just by his appearance. I paced in slow circles. My eyes flickered to him briefly, and he caught them. He smirked, a twitch of the lips. My face burned.

The professor cleared his throat. "Ms. Milne." He called. "He's right in front of you."

I bit down on my bottom lip. "Right." I muttered. "Of course." I tried to force the overwhelming rush of blood to my face to cool down, but it only made it flare worse as I acknowledged its existence. I heard some snickers from the rows closer to the front, and I could see the jeers in the eyes of my classmates. Even the Gryffindors—people who were supposed to be, if not on my side, at least against the _Slytherins_—sort of chortled and chuckled. Or, rather, it felt like they were. It felt like _everyone_ was staring me down.

I took a seat next to the Black boy, trying to keep as much space between us as possible. The student on the other side of me sniffed in disdain and gave me a sideways glance. I couldn't help but wonder if he had been the one I had bumped into on the train. I didn't know how many of Sirius Black's family attended Hogwarts, and I certainly didn't know how many of them were male. He just looked like he could've been the one from the train. Maybe.

He was still smirking slightly, though I could tell from the way it was etched deeply into his skin that he was trying to stifle it as I had been trying to strangle my own blush.

"The Gemino curse, as I'm sure you all know by now," The professor said, "is a curse which, when placed on a target object, allows that target object to be multiplied up being touch. These copies are worthless, making this an ideal curse for one who wishes to keep their valuables safe from wandering hands, yes?" He winked at the classes, sending waves of giggles across the room.

"Each of your groups is going to be provided with an object on which to place the Gemino curse. Whoever manages to correctly place it on their respective object first gets a . . . a prize, of sorts." He said. "Objects," he slapped a desk to the right of him that was covered with baubles and trinkets on every spare inch, "are available here. First come, first serve."

I looked at the Black boy to say something—ask his name, introduce myself—but he had already gotten up, smooth as a river current, and was gliding over to the desk. I saw him finger various trifles, touching each one lightly before moving on until he found one he seemed to like the most. I noted his posture; straight and unmoving as a metal rod. He was rather thin, but not sickly seeming, and he lacked the sun-kissed look that Sirius' flesh had attained. Instead, he was a bit on the pale side, with stark black hair that swung into his moss-grey eyes every once in a while. He had nice lips, slightly feminine, but nice; his jaw was strong and his nose was wide, but not in a way that seemed ugly. Oh, and what pretty eyelashes as well . . .

I didn't notice when he had sat down next to me again. He materialized out of nowhere and I nearly fell out of my seat in astonishment or fright or something inbetween.

It must have shown on my face because he gave me a questioning look before plopping down the object he had selected onto our table. He stuck out his hand, waving it right under my nose. It was long and articulate, with each finger poised in such a way as to seem as if they each had their own minds and thought their own thoughts.

"Regulus." He stated.

I stared at his hand for a moment before placing mine in his. "Oh, yes, well," I stuttered. "I'm Isla. Izzy. Er, Isla. Just call me Isla."

He raised one of his blackened eyebrows.k "Isla then? You're sure."

I nodded, and my sandy curls swung forward. I suddenly felt self-conscious of the fact that my hair was probably incredibly frizzy, and I probably looked more like a fuzzy tabby cat than a person.

He—Regulus, I reminded myself—shrugged. "Then show me what you know about conducting this curse." He didn't smile. He hadn't smiled even once, and I felt odd under his consistent, even stare. His frowns were easy and frequent, but he refused to crack even a small grin at my stumbling over words. Normally, I would've been grateful for this, but with him, no response at all was somehow worse.

Oh, fantastic.


End file.
